


deal

by longituddeonda



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bets & Wagers, Dare, F/M, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Sexism, Sexual Content, Vaginal Fingering, betting someone to date someone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23374834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longituddeonda/pseuds/longituddeonda
Summary: you’re the new secretary for the ambassador, and a certain javier peña has seemingly set his sights on you. little do you know that it’s all a bet he made with the other guys in the dea to see if he could sleep with you.**on hiatus**
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader
Comments: 29
Kudos: 128





	1. Prologue

The bar where most of the DEA hangs out after a long week is a seedy little place. A narrow plot of land, not too wide at any point but stretching far back. The lighting is dim and most of the chairs are sticky with dried beer and a number of substances the regular clientele doesn’t care to think about. It’s far from the best place in town, but the food is good and the bartenders even better. Plus the owner knows how to keep quiet about things.

The DEA likes to do their weekly destress at the very back, as far from the main entrance and close to the back alley exit as possible. 

Steve couldn’t come out with everyone tonight. Usually, he and Javier would sit together, avoiding the boisterous conversation and trying to forget the immoral things they’d done during the week. 

Tonight, however, Javier’s stuck with the DEA lackeys. Desk jobs, almost all of them. Real rude too. 

“…lovely ass walking down the street, bright red mini skirt. Called out at her from the parking lot, she completely ignored me. You know these Colombian girls, real sexy, all of ‘em, but real bitches too.” Tyler Phillips, the shortest guy in the department. One of the tallest egos. 

“Ty, ya know that’s ‘cause they’re all whores, won’t talk to you unless you’re paying good money.” Jesse Wilson. Knows how to tap a phone, but only monitors the calls that have something to do with extra-marital affairs. 

“Something Peña knows all about,” Tyler smirks. 

Five heads turn toward Javier, who, up until then, had been sitting back with his second bottle of beer stuck to his lips, not wanting to join the conversation. 

“You know they’re people too, right? Doesn’t do you any good to be talking about them like they’re below you,” Javier says, shaking his head.

“Come on, Peña,” Ken Cook says. Another communications guy. “We all know you’re fucking one of ‘em every night of the week. You can cut the feminist crap.”

“It’s not…” Javier trails off just as Carl Morgan pops into the conversation. 

“Say, have you all met the new secretary for the ambassador?”

“She’s real pretty, don’t you think?” Ken says. 

“Got those nice tits too,” says Billy Sullivan. 

“I’d love to knock boots with her,” drawls out Jesse. Javier’s known plenty of guys like him back in Laredo. Texas boys who think they know everything about anything. Thought he was leaving them behind on his way to Colombia. 

“I’ve already tried,” Tyler says, taking a drag of his cigarette. “She’s not gonna crack. Real prude.”

“Peña, ya’ seen her?” Billy asks. 

“Sure, couple times? What of it?” Javier was just thinking about leaving but now he glances up from his bottle, eyebrows raised. 

“I bet if anyone can bone her, it’d be you,” Billy says, smiling. 

“No way.” This was why Javier didn’t do these nights without Steve. 

“Come on, one hundred bucks says you can’t.” Tyler sets down his beer and leans back in the chair. 

“You said it yourselves, she’s not gonna crack,” Javier says, shaking his head. He doesn’t sleep with the women from the embassy. Especially the ones who don’t want the attention. 

“Didn’t take you as one to shy away from a woman, Peña,” Ken says. 

“I know how to choose my battles, and she ain’t worth it.” Javier downs the rest of his bottle before signaling to the bartender for another. 

“Fine, but she’s got an ass any guy would love to fuck. If you don’t want her, leave her to us,” Jesse says. 

“You’re missing out, Peña,” Billy says. 

“I bet she’s hiding even more curves under those skirts,” Carl says. 

Every guy at the table erupts in laughter, a cloud of happiness and horniness and a lot of something sinister. Every guy except Javier, who is now taking a swig of his third bottle as he scowls over everyone. 

“You know what?” Tyler says, voice loud enough to be heard by someone entering the bar. “Since Peña here’s not going for it, one hundred bucks to whoever sleeps with her first”

“A hundred? I’d do her for fifty.” Ken has just calmed down from the previous fit of laughter. He must have found something funny in the words he said, as he erupts again, bringing the rest of the boys with him in full body shouts. 

It’s interrupted by a loud bang. Javier is standing over them, his bottle firmly planted on the wooden table. 

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind.” There’s a dark look in his eyes. “You’ve got a deal. How long do I have?”

Tyler takes a moment to contemplate. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Billy exclaims, “Tyler, this is Peña we’re talking about.”

“You’re right,” Tyler says. “You’ve got one week to sleep with her. And I’ll double it if you don’t do it in one of your apartments.”

“Deal.”


	2. Chapter 1

Mondays are always the worst. You’re one of the lucky embassy workers who actually have a consistent schedule that almost always includes weekends off, and while most anyone you talk to is jealous of it, you can’t help but become frustrated at the mundane life it forms.

You moved to Colombia all those years ago to escape the 9-5 slump, and it had worked. Until you were laid off. Your close friend, Sarah, works at the embassy too, and when you were searching for jobs she had mentioned a couple of openings for regular citizens, which you had applied to. The pay was a very welcome increase, especially the bonus the US government pays any embassy workers stationed in a “dangerous” country. Really the only drawback is the hours make you hate Mondays again.

It’s another slow day. You spent the first couple hours preparing documents for a meeting later that day and responding to a couple of official letters. Now, you are hoping the rest of the day is calm enough too. The excitement of political chaos had marked your first two weeks, with some local elections the ambassador needed to get involved in. Your job includes assisting in the organization of most of her appointments and it resulted in late hours of paperwork, document preparation, and some translation on top of the back and forth between other embassies and government buildings. After all that had calmed down, you were ready for some quiet.

You’re also hoping you won’t be tempted to punch anyone in the parking lot. If that asshole Agent Phillips tries to ask you out one more time with his salacious grin, you are more than ready to do much more than decline him. Breaking his nose is not an unwelcome idea even if it gets you fired. You had been living on your own for a while and could tell by now what kind of guys to avoid, and the men who worked at the embassy? Almost all of them were the worst.

Someone walks by the door to the entry hall for the Ambassador’s office and within a second you see their figure reappear and walk in, stopping in front of your desk and leaning over.

You look up. It’s a man, thankfully not Agent Phillips, but one you’ve maybe seen three times in the past two weeks. He’s wearing a cream-colored button-down, different from the tan suits most of the men wear around here. The top two buttons remain undone and he’s grinning down at you.

“The ambassador isn’t in,” you say.

“I’m not looking for the ambassador,” he says. “My name’s Javier Peña, DEA.”

He drops his shoulders and sets his hands down on the edge of your desk, the lighter part of his forearms on display.

Agent Phillips is DEA too, which doesn’t bode well for this new guy’s reputation. Your snap judgment is to tell him to fuck off, but you know that doesn’t help your job. He could be here for a professional reason.

“DEA?” you ask, “Do you need a document signed or registered or something?”

“No. I was actually looking for you.”

“Me? What could you possibly want?” you say. You choose your words carefully. Men asking for you, especially when you’re brand new to the job, and especially men who dress and preen themselves like Javier, they don’t want your help. They want you in bed.

“I wanted to know if you wanted to grab a drink with me,” he says. He smiles, waiting for a response.

You knew it. Another DEA asshole wanting to take you out. It wasn’t cute the first time, and it definitely isn’t cute now. Even if this Javier is a lot hotter than the other guys.

“Sorry Agent Peña, but I’m not interested,” you say, hoping it will be enough to get rid of him. It usually isn’t and you have more to say if needed.

“Okay, well,” he says, “I’ll see you around then.”

A man who respects boundaries isn’t necessarily the worst person to come by your desk. Was he unprofessional in his actions? Sure. But respectful. And you can appreciate that.

He pushes off of the desk and turns to leave but not before you notice a slight pained look on his face. You’re surprised he accepted it so well, however, the emotion you see in him? It reminds you of all the times you’ve been rejected by guys you have had innocent crushes on. Maybe his offer was more sincere than wanting to sleep with you?

.

You’re in the cafeteria pouring yourself a cup of coffee during your lunch break. The ambassador’s office is the coldest room in the entire building, which is saying something because the whole embassy is like an icebox. Years of becoming accustomed to the warm air of Colombia ripped away by a bunch of wimps who like their office fans blowing all day long. And while they’re sweating their asses off, you end up with goosebumps and have to refill your mugs of warm drinks every hour.

“So, a splash of milk and two scoops of sugar?” says a familiar voice. 

You look up to see Javier grinning as he leans against the countertop.

“What do you want?”

“Just curious how you take your coffee.”

“Because  _ that’s _ a normal thing to do with someone you’ve only spoken to once,” you say. You can’t help but roll your eyes before grabbing your mug and walking across the room to a table far from Javier. You set down your things, pull out your packed lunch from your bag, and, sensing a presence, look up.

Javier is standing in front of you. What the hell?

“I’m just taking my lunch break,” he says as if he’s reading your mind.

“And do you have to take it here?” You gesture at the table at which you sit.

“Sure,” he says, shrugging, “It  _ is _ the cafeteria for a reason.”

“You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

“Nope.” He grins and gestures at the spot across from you. “Can I eat lunch here?”

“‘It is the cafeteria for a reason’,” you mock, “I don’t think I can stop you.”

Is this guy even real? His flirting is obvious but  _ terrible _ . You weren’t sure if you had ever come across a guy like that who didn’t look sleazy. But Javier is an enigma. And a somewhat dorky one too. He sets down his own plate of food across from you.

The cafeteria reminds you of high school. The long tables attached benches too close together to be comfortable. The unsettlingly smooth surfaces made to be easy to wipe down. Nothing about the room allows you to relax during the hour you have for lunch, but you’re too nervous to try to go somewhere else.

It even holds the unfriendly implications of social circles and hierarchies as you spend busy lunch hours weighing the options of which table to sit at and who wouldn’t mind your company.

Sarah told you after work last week that the best place in the whole complex for lunch breaks is a patio out back, but it’s always empty whenever you want to eat and the big windows would reveal you eating alone to everyone in the Foreign Agricultural Services office, a public display you aren’t yet ready for. Instead, you’re stuck in the cafeteria, sitting across from a DEA agent who is sipping at a large mug of coffee between bites of his lunch.

“So, you sure you don’t want to go out for dinner with me?” Javier says, breaking the silence.

“Dinner? I thought it was drinks?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Does it matter? Offer still stands. Do you want to go out with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

.

As you stuff all your things into your purse at the end of the day, walking out to the parking lot, you hate the fact that all you can think about is Javier Peña. If his intention was to implant the idea of him in your head, it seems his persistence has paid off.

And it’s not only the interactions you had had with him. It was the way he glanced up when you entered the DEA offices to follow up on an assignment and collect a couple reports. How his eyes darted between you and the other guys who seemed to be undressing you as you walked. Sarah doesn’t know much about the DEA but she had warned you the only good guy there was named Steve because he’s the only married one. He was your point of contact in your first couple weeks, but it’s today that you realize Javier is his partner.

The pair actually smiled at you when you popped into their office and handed them a stack of mail that had arrived for them from the Colombian Police Force. 

The feeling of being raw meat in a lion’s cage isn’t an isolated one, and you truly felt Javier’s absence in the other parts of the embassy. Walking through the male-dominated CIA office was awful, as was the IRS section, and the Economic Policy unit on the top floor somehow managed to be the worst. You walked in the first time and someone fucking  _ wolf-whistled. _ A woman by the photocopier machine had leaned over and said you needed to get used to it because it never stopped.

At least in the DEA it didn’t feel like 10 out of 10 men were awful and everyone else let it happen. There are a few guys in there who didn’t suck. Whose presence kept the rest from vocalizing their thoughts. You could tell by the way Javier commanded the section of the building that he and Steve were the glue holding their agents to a higher standard.

Javier isn’t like the other guys. That might be why you can’t seem to forget him. His looks all day long never made you feel like he was doing anything more than checking you out in a way that felt respectful. Like he was admiring your face rather than your body. He had said you had a lovely smile when he left the table after lunch.

And now you’re out in the parking lot thinking about  _ his  _ face like a teenager with a crush. Except you don’t have a crush. You swear. He’s just interesting. He doesn’t have the look in his eyes saying all he wants is to fuck.

“Look at that, did you park next to me?” Someone says from in front of you. Javier pops out from behind a large Jeep he was about to enter.

“Or did you park next to me?” you groan. Despite how he’s wormed his way into your thoughts, he still irks you. You’re not interested in a relationship, which is seemingly what he’s after. And someone so eager only can mean they’re desperate or have been terribly unsuccessful in the past.

“Pretty sure it’s the other way around.” He leans onto the hood of his car, one hand on his hip. It’s like he’s posing and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah? And how early did  _ you  _ get here, Agent Peña?”

“I-uh,” he splutters.

“DEA doesn’t have a start time,” you say. “You could probably arrive at ten and be fine. Secretary to the ambassador, however? Seven-thirty am. Sharp. And the parking lot was empty.”

“You got me. But seriously, that sounds awful. Way too early,” he says.

“Good thing I’m doing it and not you.”

“Aren’t you exhausted?” The question throws you off.

“Aren’t you?” He’s a field agent. Probably spends part of his day running around the city in regular clothes, chasing after drug dealers like they do in the movies.

“Not really. I didn’t have to wake up early like you and spend all day doing paperwork,” he says.

You blink. Did he say your job sounds like hard work? Did he imply he respected what you did? You don’t know what to say.

“It sounds like you could use a relaxing evening,” Javier continues.

You can’t help but let out a laugh. “Yeah, I could.”

“Can I buy you dinner?”

_ And there he goes again _ . You’re tempted to say yes. It’s not like you’re opposed to going out on a date with this guy. It’s just—well you’ve said no twice now. And you don’t want to be dating a coworker. It’s unprofessional, especially for a new employee.

“Usually a relaxing night includes myself and a box of takeout at home, followed by a bath and a quiet evening of reading before I go to sleep early,” you say, shaking your head.

“Usually doesn’t mean always.” He’s getting better, you’ll admit that. And that smile is so damn charming.

“Unfortunately for you, usually is what’s going to happen tonight,” you say.

“You sure?”

“Positively. See you tomorrow, Agent Peña.”


	3. Chapter 2

The whole damn thing is inappropriate, Javier knows that. But it’s better than the alternative of letting the rest of the DEA try to have at Y/N, bothering her day after day until she finally relents out of frustration. But he supposes it’s not too different from what he’s doing. He would like to think that he is doing a service to her, would like to imagine that he is a better alternative than any of the other men in the office, but he knows the true service would be to leave her alone. She doesn’t deserve any of the unwanted and tasteless flirting and taunting.

But if he doesn’t do it, someone else would.

There’s something about her, too. She’s turned him down three times so far but doesn't seem to be annoyed. Javier’s learned before, the hard way, that asking a woman out after being turned down once is enough to earn a slap on the face, or worse, getting kicked out of the bar. But she smiles every time. Remains polite. And he can’t help but want to get to know her better.

Which is what leads him to walk into work on Tuesday morning and head straight to her desk, stationed right outside the Ambassador’s office. She isn’t there. The muffled sounds behind the frosted glass door suggest the Ambassador is in a meeting, and Y/N is likely inside with her.

Javier scrambles to find a scrap of paper, electing to use a napkin he had shoved in his back pocket the night before, not wanting to mess up anything on her desk. The note he writes isn’t necessarily eloquent, but it’s polite and efficient, enough that it might be a good start to the day. Another day of attempting to get her to, at the very least, go out on a date with him. Anything to get her one step closer to sleeping with him.

The walk back to his desk has him thinking about the whole bet. He’s not going to sleep with her if she doesn't want to. That much he’s confident about. If necessary, he’ll lie to the other guys about what happened and hope that’ll be enough to keep them off her case.

But what if it works? What’s next? Do they decide that once Javier’s done with her, they all get a shot? Or will they move on to the next girl in the embassy who shows a little sign of resistance? The entire concept makes him wish he had the status to fire all of them. Especially Agent Phillips, who had made it extremely clear how he had already attempted what Javier was now tasked with.

The remainder of the morning goes by without a word from her.

By the time she does show up in the office, he perks up, waiting for the moment in which she inevitably will stop by his desk to deliver a witty remark. Something. Anything.

Instead, she drops off a stack of notarized documents at someone else’s desk and walks out, eyes barely sweeping over Javier. As she walks away, he jumps up, a split-second decision to dash after her. He catches up outside of the office.

“Hey,” he says, causing her to stop and turn around, a single eyebrow raised as if challenging him. “Did you get my note”

“I did,” she says. Her words are slow and careful. He knows she’s thinking through the conversation. He loves how she does that, how he can see the way she analyzes him and his words.

“And are you going to respond to it?” Javier says.

She stands there, facing him, and the seconds drag on. When she finally does speak, he’s clinging to every word.

“Do you want me to write out a response and drop it on your desk like a teenager when you’re standing right here?”

_ Shit _ . She’s got a point. “Not when you put it that way,” he says, sheepish.

“What do you think my answer is?”

“I would hope it would be ‘Yes, Javier, I’d love to go out to dinner with you.’?”

“Then I’m afraid you’re not going to be pleased with the response,” she says.

“Which is...?”

“Sorry, Agent Peña, but I’d like to keep my work relations strictly professional,” she says and if Javier’s shoulders sag, he’s never going to admit it. But he’s definitely glad that they are out of sight from the rest of the DEA. Even Steve would never let him live this conversation down.

Tyler Phillips might be an asshole, but he was right about one thing. She’s not going to crack. However, that’s not going to stop Javier from trying.

“Right,” he sighs. “Well, thank you for your consideration.”

“Anytime, Agent Peña.”

.

Javier heads to the cafeteria for lunch, again, hoping to run into her. Unfortunately, after waiting for ten minutes, she doesn’t show up and Javier pulls out his lunch and sits by one of the windows.

As he is finishing up, preparing to go back to pouring over reports and photographs for a fraction of a clue of Escobar’s whereabouts, someone sits down across from him. He looks up.

Y/N, for some inexplicable reason, has elected to sit at the same table as Javier, and his eyes widen in awe as she refrains from eye contact, carefully setting out the container of food she has in her bag.

“Good afternoon,” he mumbles. She looks up and Javier feels his heart beating faster than ever before. He’s never been so nervous around a woman before.

Probably because he’s never voluntarily pursued the sort of woman that he assumes wants to be courted on like in the movies. Probably because she’s more beautiful than anyone he’s seen. Probably because her voice is so perfect and he clings onto the way she says ‘Agent Peña.’ Probably because he’s more invested than he ever expected to be in obtaining a date.

“Good afternoon,” she says. “How was your morning?”

“Good,” he says. He’s not sure why she’s sitting here but does not want to ruin things. “How was yours?”

“Had a long meeting this morning and then an exhausting trip to the DEA offices. You know how it is,” she’s not looking at him, rather staring down at her food as she eats, but he can see the hint of a smile gracing her face.

Javier chuckles to himself. Maybe she has cracked.

“Sounds tiring,” he says.

“It was.”

“Kind of sounds like yesterday, and you know, I was thinking about what you  _ usually _ do on tiring days and was wondering if today you wanted to switch it up? If you say no, I understand, and if you tell me to stop asking you out entirely, I’ll do that too,” he says. Shit. He’s put himself on the line for rejection before with her, but never so much as to be rejected permanently. “But if you would like, I know a good place to go out to eat near the embassy apartments. And I’d like to take you.”

She looks up, lips pursed. She takes a deep breath through her nose, and then slowly nods. “One problem. I don’t live in the embassy apartments. I’ve been living in Colombia for years.”

Is that a yes? He asks her what neighborhood she lives in, and upon realizing that her place is within walking distance to another great restaurant, halfway to his apartment, he says, “How about we go out to eat at 7, I’ll meet you there?”

“Okay. It’s a date,” she smiles.

So that is definitely a yes. And Javier has no idea what to do now. He doesn’t do dates. He doesn’t know what one is supposed to do when going out to dinner like this. He meets women at sleazy bars and buys them a drink, or even goes so far to shell out some money for a night where his mind is clear of the weight of work. But he has gone so far to obtain the one thing he’s spent over 24 hours attempting to get, and he’s not going to screw it up for her. He’s not going to be just another asshole to her. He can’t be.

.

Javier is leaning up against the wall, waiting for her to show up. He’s got a cigarette hanging from his lips when he sees her across the street and his stomach drops because  _ what if she’s the sort of girl who doesn’t like when guys smoke? _ He has to chastise himself for that thought. He shouldn’t care if she likes him in the long run. She just has to like him enough this week.

That doesn’t stop him from tapping out his cigarette and dropping it into a trash can as he walks over to meet her.  _ Fuck, _ she’s beautiful. The guys were all wrong about her. The best thing isn’t her body, although he can’t help from letting his eyes wander a bit. The best thing is her smile.

She radiates confidence that can only come from the years spent in the Colombian streets; the slight quirk of her mouth and the way she carries herself would make any guy turn his head.

It’s refreshing to see her out of her work clothes. No longer did she wear the long modest skirts and the button-downs. Her hair is down and she’s donned a flowing dress that falls a couple inches above her knees along with a pair of flat sandals.

“Hi,” she says, looking Javier up and down.

“Hi,” he says. “You look beautiful.”

It’s awkward and he knows it. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do in a situation like this, it’s so far from his usual regime. But there’s no way _the_ _usual_ will work on her.

Once he’s gotten her seated in the restaurant, the halting conversation gives way to superficial chatter until she asks him why he joined the DEA.

That’s not a question that Javier has received in a long time, and it’s one he’s never answered honestly. Part of him wants to give off the scripted answer he uses when prompted, the one that popped up time and time again during the interviews and training. But part of him has the inkling of a feeling that an honest answer will go further with her. That it might get him a little closer.

Which is when his mind wanders back to the bet. The intention to lie about sleeping with her. So why the hell does he want to impress her? Why does he want to get close? He inhales and tries to convince himself that getting closer will only do more to convince the guys that they really did get intimate.

“My mom wasn’t around much growing up,” he starts. While he is confident in the truth, he’s never said it aloud. There’s something about her though. Maybe it’s the thought that she’s the first person he’s socialized with outside of work that wasn’t directly related to the DEA or his need to forget the DEA, that she’s someone who has willingly offered herself up for an evening of casual conversation. Whatever it is, he’s ready to let at least part of the story spill out. “It left my dad and my siblings and me to manage on our own. She would disappear for weeks and then show up for a school play or a parent-teacher conference. When we lost her to the drugs that had consumed her life, I wasn’t angry at her like the rest of my family. I was angry at the people who sold her the shit. It wasn’t until the DEA was formed and I was working as a police detective in Laredo that I realized I had a chance to do something about it.”

“Oh,” she says, looking down at her food. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’ve gotten over it. Wouldn’t have told you about it if it was too much.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a lot to go through. I can’t imagine going through that. My parents were so important in my life, even though things have gotten rough since I went off to college, I’m still afraid of losing them.”

“I can understand that. I’m terrified of my father dying too. He’s always wanted me to stay in Texas, work on the ranch with him, and we fight over just about everything. But he was so damn important,” Javier says, and he almost regrets the words as soon as he says them. He doesn’t know what it is with this woman that has him so fucking open. And he hates that he likes it.

Over dinner he learns that she’s lived in Colombia since graduating college, first holding a job at a local school, then working as a bartender for a while, then as a secretary, anything really. She loves all the art and literature. That magical realism was what brought her here in the first place. It’s like she has nothing in common with him except her deep compassion, no matter how much Javier likes to hide his own, and her ethics for hard and focused work. But there’s so much that he sees in her that he is enamored by. Especially how comfortable she makes him feel. Maybe it’s her willingness to be vulnerable and trusting, but he finds himself  _ wanting _ to tell her things, to confide in her about the memories and actions that weigh heavily on his soul.

By the time he’s standing up after paying the bill and holding out a hand to her, he’s scared. Scared that he’s dreading the end of the date. Scared of the consequences of everything, especially the bet that doesn’t ever disappear from the back of his head. Scared that ninety minutes alone with her has turned on some part of him he thought he left behind in Texas with Lorraine.

He enters the cool night air with her, hand in hand, as they walk down the empty streets to her apartment. She’s smiling, telling Javier all about the ways Colombia has changed in the past years, and he’s staring at her, wondering how he missed out on years of feeling like this. Like everything is, for once, okay.

She guides him up to the door to her apartment, and he thinks she’s going to let him in. And at that moment it occurs to him that he hasn’t been thinking about pulling her into bed with him, although it wouldn’t be unwelcome, but touching the curve of her cheek and pulling her in for a kiss. It doesn’t matter if he gets to go into her apartment tonight. 

She turns to him and says, “Thank you. For a really nice night.”

And that’s when he reaches up to her neck, his thumb sweeping over her jaw, leans in, and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

She nods, “Yes.”

And his heart soars far higher than it ever should, higher than he’s likely ever let it fly. He closes the distance and presses his lips on hers, wraps his arm around her waist, lauds the way she embraces him.

When she pulls away it doesn’t hurt that there’s no more, it only leaves the excitement of what was. She smiles downwards, her hand raising to her mouth, and he smiles too.

“Goodnight,” Javier says, tracing his hand down one of her arms until he holds her hand in his own. He gently squeezes before letting go.

“Goodnight, Javier,” she says.


	4. Chapter 3

“Hey, babe.”

You look up. It’s Sarah, leaning against the doorway.

“I know I’ve been busy lately but I’d like to catch up? Your lunch break starts in a minute, right?” she asks.

You hadn’t gotten to talk to Sarah in almost a week. Her work for the CIA is classified, and while she says she works a desk job, you have a hunch there are some other, more demanding, parts of her job, especially considering the sporadic hours she keeps.

“It does, and I’d love to join you,” you say. You close up all your folders and clear off your desk, then lock up the drawers of important documents before grabbing your bag and following Sarah down the halls.

You’re incredibly thankful for the chance to talk with Sarah, but as you pass the wing of the building that holds the DEA offices, you’re struck with a little bit of regret. You won’t be eating lunch with Javier today. It would be a big, fat lie to say you hadn’t been thinking about him almost every second since you kissed him goodbye the night before. And, honestly, you had been thinking of him almost every second since Monday, which was what led to you finally accepting his offers. And you are so glad you did.

You hadn’t planned on Javier. You like dating. You like the idea that there is someone out there for you. But the years had proven, time and time again, the men you seemed to attract weren’t the ones for you. It never stopped you from going out, but you had developed some rules. Primarily, coworkers and clients are off-limits. It served you well when you were a bartender, and has worked ever since. Except something about Javier was—is—so alluring. And he hadn’t pressured you into a single thing. There was always an out, every step of the way. You weren’t even sure if there’s going to be a second date, and you know the decision on that is up to you. That is, if Javier asks you. And  _ god do you hope he does _ .

Sarah leads you out to the little patio she spoke of and you settle down on one of the tables out there across from her. You start eating your lunch and Sarah begins to tell you about her day, the office politics of the CIA branch, and some story about Mike from Agricultural Affairs. She stops in the middle of her sentence.

“Why are you so smiley today?” she asks.

“What?” you say. You like to think you’re a smiley person, but you know she’s caught onto the thoughts of Javier running through your head. She’s always been the one to notice stuff like that.

“You’re acting like something has gone really well. Too well for it to be work-related,” she says.

“I, um, I had a date,” you say.

“You? Went out on a date?” Sarah’s eyes widen. “You have to tell me all about it.”

You laugh. “We just went out for dinner.”

“Just went out for dinner? Come on, that’s not enough to get you so giddy. Who with?”

“Javier Peña, from the DEA?” you say, hoping she recognizes the name.

It seems she does, as she blinks a few times before sitting back in her seat, eyes darkening. You don’t have a clue what’s happened.

“Sarah?” you ask.

“What did you  _ do? _ ” she says, voice cold.

“We just went out for dinner, like I said. And then he walked me back to my apartment.”

“And then?”

“That was it.”

“No. It wasn’t. That’s not Javier,” she says.

“Okay, yeah,” you say, glancing around. You’re not sure what’s got Sarah acting so weird or asking any of these questions. “We kissed, and then I went into my apartment, and I assume he went home.”

“But you didn’t...” Sarah says, trailing off as you furrow your eyebrows. She rolls her eyes.

_ Oh _ , “No, Sarah, I wouldn’t, not on a first date—or, at least, not on one like that.” You’re flustered at the implications, and you’re trying to decipher the look on Sarah’s face. It holds disbelief and suspicion. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“You need to stay away from that man,” she says.

“Why?” Javier is the nicest guy in the whole damn office you’ve interacted with. And your date had gone so well.

“Javier is...” she starts, then stops as she attempts to come up with the words. “Javier only thinks about two things: Pablo Escobar, and sex. And everyone in the office knows. He sleeps with women for information and checks out every single girl who walks by his desk.”

“No,” you protest, trying to align the words Sarah is saying with the gentle and respectful man you had kissed you last night. “He’s not. He—he’s—”

“You need to stay away from him,” she says. “I told you Steve was the best of the DEA? Well, Javier? He’s the  _ worst.  _ He’s a womanizer. It’s disgusting.”

“Sarah, he’s been nothing but kind,” you say. You swallow. You’re running through all the memories of the past days, searching for some sort of proof Sarah is telling the truth, but you find none. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Y/N, even if he’s been nice, that’s not  _ him _ . He’s always in it for something, and I don’t want you getting hurt,” she says.

“Sarah, I really like him, he’s—” but you’re not so sure. Maybe she is right. You’ve known him for two days. That’s not enough to know who someone is. And you trust Sarah. She’s always been a good judge of character. Her opinion, while not one you are inclined to believe, is one you’ve always valued. To ignore this seems naive.

“I know you, Y/N.” Sarah can tell what you’re thinking, you’re sure of that. “You’re not going to stop seeing him, are you?”

You take a deep breath. Do you want to? The answer is clear. You shake your head.

“Okay, but know that I don’t agree with it, it sounds like he’s using you,” she says and you open your mouth to protest again, “I know you don’t think so, and I want to believe you. I just don’t want you getting hurt. You’re so much better than that.”

“I can stand up for myself,” you say.

“I know, but wouldn’t it be so much better if you didn’t have to in the first place?” she says.

Maybe she’s right. If Sarah’s making such a big deal, doesn’t that mean there’s some truth to it? But what could the Javier you had gotten to know have done to build up that sort of reputation? You can’t even believe her simple claim that he checks out all the girls in the office, let alone everything else she was implying. You don’t want to believe it. But there’s a little part of you already starting to do so. And as hard as you try to ignore it, it won’t go away.

.

You’re sitting at your desk, working through too many documents of translations. Your eyes are growing heavy as the ambassador had no extra duties for the day and the constant reading of letters and press releases in Spanish with no breaks is about to have you falling asleep.

Someone sets down a full mug of coffee on your desk and you look up. It’s Javier. Your whole body seems to relax, releasing all sorts of tension in every muscle, upon seeing him. There’s instantly a smile on your face.

“Javier,” you say.

And then you remember Sarah’s words. And a pit settles in your stomach.

“Thanks for last night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

You stare at Javier, imagining him doing some of the things Sarah said. Could the man in front of you sleep with all sorts of women to get information? Could that cute smile and terrible flirting result in a reputation that any time he goes out it has to end in sex? Could the guy who bore the story of his mother to you last night be only interested in getting you into bed? You wanted, so badly, to believe those were lies. But did you really know him?

“Me too,” you say, perfectly honest. Last night was amazing. It went better than any date you had ever gone on. It was the textbook definition of a good date. You showed up in a comfortable but cute outfit and Javier was a gentleman. He told you about himself, but not the way most men do with all the boasting and pride of a lifetime of privilege, but with humility and nostalgia. And he asked you about yourself. So many questions. And you had more for him. You felt like you had gotten to know him by the end of the night. But maybe you hadn’t.

And then you take a sip of the coffee in front of you and it’s how you like it. Javier remembered and took the time to make it and bring it to you. Just when you needed it. And if that wasn’t enough for Sarah, you weren’t sure what was.

“I didn’t see you in the cafeteria at lunch today,” Javier says. You feel bad about that. If Sarah hadn’t shown up, you would have gone to the cafeteria, hoping Javier was there so you could sit across from him. And to think he had shown up expecting you?

“I was with my friend, we ate outside,” you explain.

“You have a friend who works here?” he asks, before realizing how it sounds. He rushes to add, “I didn’t mean that I didn’t think you’d have a friend, I just meant... I didn’t know.”

You laugh, “It’s fine, I get it.”

“I want to know,” he says, “I want to know those sorts of things.”

You’re struck by the suddenness. That’s not the sort of admission you expected from Javier. Except it’s one that pulls at a corner of your heart and when you look up at him, his eyes expectant and softened, you know you’ve been interacting with a Javier not many people get to see.

“Her name’s Sarah,” you say, “CIA.”

“Oh, Sarah,” he says, recognition falling into place across his face. “I know her. Nice woman.”

You blink. He knows Sarah? She didn’t mention that. She only said all the shit about his reputation and what he does. But of course, she must have interacted with him at some point? Right? To have developed such a negative image of him? Your brain is working overtime right now and you barely had the energy for the translations before, let alone working out all the details of the embassy office politics you’ve become ensconced in.

“She’s, um,” Javier continues. “Probably a great person to have as a friend.”

“She is,” you say. That’s not a quality even you tend to notice in others. How the hell did you manage to catch the eye of the one guy who seems to notice that kind of shit?

The smile is back on your face, trying to forget the lingering doubt Sarah had sown, and your confusion over her possible interactions with Javier. Maybe he had just rubbed her the wrong way and she developed a vendetta? You weren’t sure, because that isn’t like Sarah. You clear your head of the thought. You take another sip of your coffee.

“Hey, I know it might be too soon,” Javier says, “But I was wondering if you’d like to go out again? I had an idea of something we could do together, and I’m free tomorrow after work? If you want to go out again, that is. If not, then, I don’t know... um, I understand. But I’d really like it if you would?”

After the success that was your first date, you have no idea why Javier would be concerned about you saying yes to another.

“I’d—” you start but remember Sarah’s words.  _ It sounds like he’s using you _ . Why can’t you shake them? When you look up at Javier though, waiting patiently for a response, you can’t help but melt under his gaze. If he’s using you for sex, then he’s doing a shit job at it. All this has been is shy flirting and tender smiles. “I’d like that Javier.”

“Yeah?” His whole body seems to have responded with an extra bounce to his movements.

“Yeah.”

“So I’ll meet you at your apartment at four-thirty? I’m out doing fieldwork all day, otherwise, I’d pick you up from the embassy,” he says, and you’re curious what he has planned.

“Sounds good. Four-thirty,” you confirm. “And thank you for the coffee.”


	5. Chapter 4

The only thing that had gotten Javier through the long day of waiting in a van and watching an apartment building that turned out to be empty, was the thought of getting to pick Y/N up afterward. He’s hardly gotten to talk to her after their last date, the one that ended so perfectly. He missed lunch yesterday, and, due to his day at work, today too. She might have even been waiting for him like he did the day before. The thought sends a pang of anxiety through his chest.

Last night he dreamt of walking her home. Just walking. Nothing more.

Javier turns onto her street. The door is in the middle of a city block, set in between two storefronts along a line of windows and doors of bustling city life. Nothing like the embassy-owned apartments, standing alone as microcosms of American culture. As he pulls up, she’s sitting there, on the steps. She’s wearing a loose sweater and jeans, but she’s kept on her work shoes. There’s something incredibly endearing about how different she looks out of work.

He rolls down the passenger window and she looks up. The smile that crosses her face when she recognizes him makes Javier almost buzz with excitement. He gets out of the car as she stands up, crossing to the sidewalk to meet her.

“Did I keep you waiting long?” he asks.

“Nope. Got home and showered about twenty minutes ago. Been sitting here for maybe two minutes.” She’s still smiling and Javier has no idea why, but he never wants it to stop. She walks past him to the car door. “The weather is nice, it’s good to be outside.”

“It…” Javier pauses, enough to actually notice the pleasant weather today. Not too hot, not too cool. A light breeze blowing under a partly cloudy sky. He smiles and nods. “It is.”

“So where are we going?” she asks.

“Can I say it’s a surprise?”

“You can,” she says. “Does make it a bit more exciting.”

He laughs. “Just what I was going for.”

Javier leans over her and opens the passenger door for her to get in before jogging around to get in as well. He pulls out into the road and heads South.

The night where this all began seems so far away. Javier still feels sick at the way they were talking about her. And while it would be a lie to say he hadn’t noticed her before, he wasn’t planning on acting on any of the urges he had. He has more decorum than that. At least when it comes to coworkers. As she leans over to turn on the radio, skillfully switching between stations the way only one who has lived in a place for years can do, he wonders why he didn’t just tell her on Monday about the bet.

He knows why. Because he didn’t realize that anything would come out of this. Because he thought he could take her out one night, and call it good. Talk about a date that ended swimmingly to Tyler and he’d get $200 out of it, and the rest of the DEA off her case as they move on to talk about who can off the most _sicarios_ in a week or whatever the hell they usually talk about. But he found himself sitting at a little restaurant, entranced by her eyes and how she asked about him and he felt like he could actually respond honestly. And Javier has no idea what to do.

Driving down the main road, he briefly entertains the idea of telling her. Right now. To just tell her that the guys were betting on who could sleep with her first. And submit himself to the shame that he took them up on it? He doesn’t think he can. And either way, it’s not just a bet for him. Definitely not now, and he’s not sure when it stopped being one. Maybe it was that first fucking day when she turned him down in the cafeteria.

He pulls off into a parking lot, ornamented with the signage for the Museo de Arte Moderno de Bogotá, or as shown on the flags hanging off the building, MAMBO.

“Javier, are you taking me to the Modern Art Museum?” she turns to him. The disbelief is rife across her face.

“You mentioned you like art, right?” he says, hoping he didn’t get things all wrong and take her someplace she’d hate.

“I do, I just—” she shakes her head— “I didn’t take you for the sort of person who would like to wander through an art museum.”

Javier pulls into a parking space and stops the car. “I don’t know if I am. I’ve never been to one.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“Oh.” She leans back in her seat, lazily unbuckling her seatbelt and letting it slide off her. Her blank face breaks into a smile, “So you’re taking me someplace you’ve never been to?”

“I am,” he says. “I know you’ve probably been here before, I mean, you like art and have lived in Bogotá for a while, but there’s new exhibits, right? And I thought you might like to show me around?”

She nods slowly. “I would.”

While Javier might be paying for things, she takes the lead as soon as they enter the building, sorting out tickets and planning a route through the building. He likes how excited she gets about it. She seems so relaxed here, nothing like she is at work. And he knows that while the woman he asked out on a date is a fine woman, the woman she is here? She is breathtaking.

She gets excited about showing him the paintings in the permanent collection, all but dragging him to the section on the top floor to tell him her favorites. She’s seen them at least ten times. That much is clear. But somehow they haven’t lost their charm. When he turns the corner into the gallery, he sees why.

Her whole body seems to lose all its tension as she enters. The paintings are big and small and she walks around the perimeter, giving equal time to every single one. There’s a tiny one in dark blue with green and orange figures crossing it. One that spans the height of the gallery wall, all in different shades of pink. A large one in bright red with yellows and blacks and grays pooling at the bottom and crashing against each other like waves on a stormy day. Javier decides in that moment that he’s fallen in love with the paintings. Something about them reflects emotions he could never put a word to. Emotional turmoil laid out in fat brushstrokes alongside the quiet contentment of a night in.

“What do they mean?” he asks.

“What do you think?” 

It’s a question that sits pregnant in the air and Javier doesn’t have an answer. She laughs a silent laugh, an exhale through the nose, a toss of her shoulders, a smile.

“They don’t mean the same for anyone,” she says. “I like this room the best because while they have more traditional modern art elsewhere, the abstract stuff feels different every time. I come here and I look at every one and they change their meaning for me.”

“They do?”

“The first time I came here, that yellow one over there? That was what I needed to see. It was soothing in a way nothing else was. I came back two weeks later to sit in front of it in the hopes of calming myself down again and it was nauseating. I couldn’t stand the sight of it. But those three?” She points at a set of three paintings, all by the same artist, with a single red line running through the center of each canvas. “Those were it for me during that visit.”

It ends up being Javier who keeps them from leaving the room of abstract art, not Y/N. And it takes him a good five minutes to realize she’s done looking and is sitting on the bench in the center. He had been so caught up in the swirling colors of a painting to notice.

“I’m sorry, we can keep—”

“No,” she says, “Take as long as you need. That’s what art’s for. To appreciate.”

They move on to impressionism and expressionism and surrealism, sequentially making their way through years of paintings and sculptures before heading back downstairs to the temporary exhibits.

Their path opens up into a large room the size of a gym, within which large curving walls are set. Upon further inspection, the iron monstrosities curve inwards, creating secluded pathways and rooms, and there’s no barrier, no sign saying not to enter. Y/N hasn’t been to this one before, and Javier is confused when she so confidently marches forward, plunging in between two walls. She had told him earlier not to touch the art. This seems a bit suspect.

He follows her.

Somewhere in the maze-like expanse of iron she turns around, gleeful and awed. He catches up and she stares at him instead of the art, the same look on her face. She swallows.

Javier can’t help but wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her close and leaning in, pausing inches before her lips to let her close the distance. Which she does in the blink of an eye.

It’s less a kiss and more a sharing of smiles and joy and disbelief that this is happening on a Thursday afternoon and Javier couldn’t be happier. She’s bringing out feelings he forgot he had, emotions and sentiments, love of things and colors that he had buried deep in the back of his mind. Her arms snake around his shoulders and she might have a firm hold, but he worries his arms are too tight around her, holding on to something he’s already afraid to lose.

She looks at anything and sees its beauty. And she looks at him the same way.

It breaks his heart because the bet weighs heavy and it is ugly.

.

She collapses into his passenger seat with a loud sigh.

“I love museums, but your legs always hurt like a bitch afterwards,” she says.

“Do they?” Javier asks. His legs don’t hurt.

“Do yours not?” She sits up as he pulls out of the parking lot and starts to drive back in the direction of both their apartments.

“No.”

“You and your field agent stamina, I don’t know how you do it,” she says.

“Couple years in the police force shapes you right up,” he says. Those days feel so far away. He’s still in shape, but not like he once was. Not that it particularly matters to him. Training for the physical assessment to become a police officer was some of the most stressful weeks of his life. Javier wasn’t an athlete in school, but he definitely was in the top portion of his physical education class. That didn’t matter in the end when it wasn’t enough to get him the job he wanted. But it came in handy often in Colombia.

“I can hike a mountain,” she says, “But the concrete floors of a museum, the slow walking, the standing? I can’t do it.”

“So I had plans for dinner, but if you want to cut it short, go ho—”

“No. I want to stay with you,” she says, sharply cutting him off. Javier laughs. At least she’s as eager as him to spend more time together.

He drives over to his favorite little restaurant. They have the best arepas and Javier would never tell Steve because he would tell Connie and then he’d be invited over for dinner every other night, but he comes here at least twice a week for food, more often when he doesn’t have the time or energy to cook.

It looks crowded tonight.

“I hope I’m not being too forward by suggesting takeout and then taking you to my apartment?” he says.

“No, that’s fine,” she says, smiling.

They head in, order, and within five minutes are walking back out to the car with plastic bags of food.

Back at his place, he grabs some plates from the kitchen and sets them out on the coffee table, opening the bags of food and setting it all out.

“Sorry the dinner table is a bit full right now,” he says, gesturing over at the surface covered with surveillance photos he and Steve had been studying the night before.

“No problem,” she sets down her purse on the arm of the sofa before sitting next to Javier, pulling a plate onto her lap, and starting to eat.

Javier likes how he can talk to her. Their conversation moves from art museums to drug busts and international politics like a moth fluttering between lights and none of the usually strenuous topics are stressful. It’s just smooth.

Hours pass on the sofa there, and neither realizes when it’s past ten and they’re still talking.

“You know, I, uh, I didn’t want to go out with you at first because you’re a coworker, but you’re also DEA,” she says, “And I’ve only been around for a couple weeks but I’ve already been asked out by like three of the guys in your office, and they’ve all been assholes.”

“They are,” Javier says. “A lot of them come from the DEA offices in the US where women are few and far between, and they don’t know what to do with the few women that are in the office here.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than just being confused and biased,” she says. “The way some of them look at me is disgusting. I just, I don’t understand how you can work with them.”

“I don’t understand myself sometimes.” There’s no lie there. He hates the guys as much as she probably does. But he can’t help but beat himself up a bit over it. He’s no stranger to looking at a woman the way the guys in his office look at the embassy women. He’s probably made more than a couple people uncomfortable in the way she speaks of.

“Yeah, but you’re not like the other guys,” she says. “I couldn’t get that out of my head. Even from the first time we talked, I could tell. You’re not an asshole.”

“Thanks.” Javier rolls his eyes.

She throws a balled-up napkin at him and laughs. “Not like that. You respect boundaries and you listen to people. You notice things about people others would just skim over. I just don’t understand why you don’t already have someone else.”

“Someone else?” Javier scoffs, thinking of all the women he’s entertained. Some of them right on the very couch they’re sitting on. But none of them are like Y/N. He’s not comfortable with himself around them. “I guess I just hadn’t found the right person.”

“Yeah?” she says, raising her eyebrows. She gets up onto her knees and crawls over Javier. In any other context, he would be getting ready to take her right here on the sofa, the action usually a suggestive one. But the grin on her face and the one on his are purely playful.

“Yeah,” he says. He draws her into a hug as she hovers over him, bringing her lips to his as they end up horizontal on the couch, laughing. She’s lying on top of him and Javier can’t think of another time where he’s been in a situation like this and been so content existing in someone else’s presence, as is, with no further intentions. Like every moment with her is a blessing, revitalizing his soul from years of sin.

She breaks off from a short kiss to look up at the clock hanging from Javier’s wall and almost immediately shoots up and off of him.

“Shit!” she exclaims. “It’s almost eleven, and I’ve got work tomorrow—shit, you’ve got work—I need to get home. I can walk, it’s only ten minutes.”

In her flurry to grab her things Javier stands up and walks over to her as she’s slipping on her shoes, placing his hands on her upper arms.

She takes a deep breath with her body now directed towards him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I want—I want to stay later. I do. But I know if I do I won’t be able to pry myself away, I’m not going to want to. And I need to sleep so I can work tomorrow.”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about it, we’ve spent the entire afternoon and evening together, I can’t imagine a better day.”

“Me neither.” She reaches up to Javier’s arms, pushing them down and off of her own before placing a hand around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. It’s not long but it seems to last a lifetime before she pulls off. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

And she closes the door behind her, leaving Javier standing alone, feeling even more guilty for not telling her about the bet than not offering to drive her home. He imagines an alternate reality where she spends the night, he would have even taken the couch. But it wouldn’t have been appropriate. He knows that. Still, it’s nice to imagine.


	6. Chapter 5

You didn’t get much sleep last night. Coming home late after such a great evening at Javier’s was a curse in itself. You had laid in bed, awake, thinking about how you should have stayed, and every second that passed awake was a second that could have been with Javier. A second you could have kept lying on the couch with him. Your thoughts floated between wondering what could have happened if you kept kissing him and the awe of how great a day it had been. 

And you had to walk away just as things were getting good. 

Needless to say, leaving early unkindly granted you little time to rest, and you woke up late and found yourself rushing to work this morning. The chaos of the first two hours of the day left you unsure of what to do once a certain meeting had been finished. 

You spend some time doing paperwork before heading over to the DEA offices to return some approved forms, hoping to catch a moment with Javier. 

Walking between the various desks, setting down a few files in front of different people, you’re finally empty-handed when you walk over to the windowed office of Javier and his partner, Steve. 

He looks up when you open the door and smiles. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” you say. “I figured, you know, I was over here, might stop by to say hi.”

“I’m glad you came,” he says, staring at you. 

Across from Javier sits Steve whose expression doesn’t escape you. His eyes appear to be bulging out of his sockets as they dart between you and Javier. It would be funny if you weren’t confused. Surely Steve knows about you and Javier dating. Or maybe that isn’t something work partners talk about. 

“What are you doing next?” he asks. 

You furrow your brow, “I’m free for a bit. Why?”

“I have to go down to the basement to grab a folder. Do you want to join me?” he says, standing up. 

You nod, eager to spend a bit more time with him. Javier walks past you, an arm gently touching the top of your shoulder and trailing down to your waist as he brushes by. You follow him out of his office and through the rows of DEA desks. There’s more than a couple people staring at the two of you. And it’s not the usual type of stares. 

No one is looking at you like you’re a pair of tits. They’re looking at you like something is wrong, like your presence, walking behind Javier, is something so unexpected or impossible it shouldn’t be happening. It’s an improvement from before, but it still causes you to hurry up in leaving the office.

As the two of you walk down the stairs together, he’s quiet.

“So, um, does Steve know about us?” you ask.

“Not exactly, why?”

“That would explain why he looked so surprised,” you say. You’re on the last flight of stairs, descending into what you know is a room full of storage vaults and racks of old information, but the darkness is menacing enough that you had spent the last three weeks since you started, pointedly avoiding going down here.

Except since Javier is here, and you feel safe. 

He jogs down the last few steps and flips on a light switch. The humming of the fluorescent lights starts before they flicker on. Javier grins as he leads you down a row of boxes. 

“Steve and I are close, but I don’t talk to him much about my personal life,” he says. 

“Makes sense, I guess,” you say. “I just don’t want to be some secret you’re keeping from him.”

“You’re not some secret,” he says. “Hell, I’ll tell him as soon as I get upstairs if I need to.”

“You don’t have to, I just—”

“Y/N” Javier interrupts. His voice is firm and low as he stops in place, reaching out to your upper arms. One thumb rubs up and down through the fabric of your blouse. “I’m not hiding you. I, uh,” he pauses, takes a deep breath. “I like you a lot. And I’m glad I’ve gotten to get to know you the past couple days. Steve’s going to be questioning me about this by the end of the day anyway, and I have no intention of hiding things. Not from Steve, and not from anyone else.”

You smile. “Except the ambassador?”

He chuckles. “Except the ambassador.”

You look around the aisle of storage you’re in. There are no files here. Only old office furniture, supplies, and some older, much larger computers than the ones you use. 

“You don’t need a folder, do you?” you ask. You’re pretty sure you’ve caught onto what’s going on and you have no complaints.

“No,” Javier shakes his head. “But I did need some privacy so I could maybe do this?”

He leans down, one arm shifting from your shoulder to your neck, and lets you close the distance between you. 

His lips are warm and soft, and the feeling of his mustache on your upper lip tickles in a way you never expected to love. He smells a bit like cigarettes, and you’ve never seen him smoking, but assume he must. It blends nicely with whatever the smell of his clothes are, which you already associate with his home and last night, lying on top of him. You open your mouth, trying to deepen the kiss and push him up against the wall of boxes behind him. 

He’s the one to let out a groan and it awakens something in you. Javier hasn’t just been the perfect date, twice. But he’s fucking hot. And the depth of that groan makes you think, not for the first time, but definitely the most detailed, of having sex with him. Not here, in the basement that still terrified you, but outside of the embassy. You want to hear that groan again, want to hear him make every sound, because of you. And you want him, all of him. And before you can start to contemplate how much it scares and excites you, he pulls you into him tighter and you gasp at the sensation.

You’ve never been one to make out in secret, but if you can get an extra couple minutes of Javier this way, you’re content to do so. And as his hands are slipping lower down your back, you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

Your body reacts before your head can, and you’re stepping away from Javier. His torso seems to follow you for a moment. You stand across the aisle from him, laughing quietly and staring down at the floor.

“I’ll, uh.” You look up, Javier’s grinning, and your lipstick is smeared on and around his lips. “I’ll leave you to find your file.” You point weakly at your own lips, “And you might want to, uh, clean up.”

“You might want to as well,” he says, laughing. 

You reach up and swipe a finger across the edge of your mouth, noting the lipstick that picks up on your fingertips. “Noted.”

You turn around and walk towards the stairs, passing a woman heading down towards you. You lower your head, hoping she doesn’t notice whatever you may look like. A grin breaks out as you arrive at the ground floor, heading to the nearest restroom to wash your face and reapply your lipstick.


	7. Chapter 6

Javier is back at the cafeteria, again, waiting for the possibility of her showing up. He can’t think of a single week in his whole time at the embassy when he ate here every day, but he’s not going to go anywhere else when there’s the chance that Y/N will be here.

He’s glancing at the clock, watching the minutes tick by as she’s later and later. Her usual lunch break started a half-hour ago. She’s probably caught up in some work or a last-minute political meeting of some sort, but Javier’s impatient. Especially after she left him hanging in the basement earlier today.

The memory of that moment is enough for Javier to start smiling to himself. He’s not sure how he managed to get so lucky to be doing whatever he’s doing with her, but he’s glad it’s happening. 

He looks up as someone approaches. It’s Y/N, and she’s grinning.

“Hey,” she says.

“What’s got you so excited?” he asks.

“I might have a proposition,” she says. She slides into the seat across from him, and as she takes her food out of her bag, she’s almost bouncing up and down.

“A proposition?”

“Yep. A proposition. Sarah and I are going out for drinks tonight and I’ve got work on Sunday, the ambassador has a special meeting. But I’m free all Saturday, and I was hoping you were too,” she says. She’s hesitant but confident in her words. “Would you like to go do something tomorrow with me?”

She’s planning a date? Javier isn’t sure if he’s hearing her right. He’s assumed that the nature of their relationship, an improper but thrilling attempt to win her over, would mean the effort would lie on him. Apparently, that’s incorrect. 

How did it go so far, so well, so that she would ask _him_ about something? 

It must be a mistake. Javier isn’t _good_ at dating. He never has been. The last time he tried it blew up in flames. There’s no way that he’s good enough for her. That he, the man who took Tyler Phillips up on a bet, one that he often forgets about whenever he’s staring at her, could be worthy of not only getting to continue this but for her to plan something for him. 

He looks up from his plate. She’s waiting patiently, a smile on her face and an eyebrow quirked up in amusement. There’s no way he could say no. Even if he wanted to, she’s got him so hopelessly involved.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m free all day.”

Her eyes light up. “Great! Why don’t you meet me at my apartment at six? And I’ll drive.”

Six? So it’s an evening date. Which means dinner and something. Probably. Javier’s interest is further piqued. 

“Sounds good,” he says. She’s lived in Bogotá as long as he has. That much Javier knows. But unlike him, she hasn’t been living the life of an embassy working, socializing within the constraints of fellow Americans and the occasional Colombian official. She knows more about the culture of the city than he could if he spent a lifetime here with the embassy. The sorts of things you’d only learn if you create your circles of people and work within the city itself. 

And when she talks, sometimes he gets a glimpse of what that’s like. Yesterday, when she spoke of artwork in the museum. It’s moments like those that make Javier remember the excitement he had when joining the DEA. Before even knowing he’d be sent to Colombia, there was a notion that if you joined, you would go out and save the world, get to travel and work with important people. That feeling of awe and reverence of the world and what it has to offer has been damped by the days of endless paperwork and corruption, the trails that lead to dead ends, the people who can’t help, and the women he has buried himself in to forget. 

With her, it isn’t like that. With her, he catches little handfuls of that old feeling, and sometimes he’s able to hold onto it. 

.

It’s almost five when Javier and Steve call it quits for the day on their scanning of hundreds of aerial photos for the smallest sign of a safehouse mentioned in a wiretap the week before. Steve hasn’t said a word about Y/N yet, and Javier is dead set on telling him during dinner with the Murphys if Steve doesn’t break first. 

The day had gone by quietly. He returned to his office from the back door after his basement makeout session with her and was glued to his work until lunch, slipping out to see her. Steve gave him a cursory glance of confusion before returning to the images on the table. When he got back, Steve was leaving for lunch at a nearby restaurant to meet Connie. 

But now they’re walking out to the parking lot together, their cars parked side by side. Javier wishes he could have met Y/N out here as they did on Monday when he thought she was going to finally say yes to a date. But she’s gone for the day, and he knows she has plans. 

Steve makes it past the first row of cars before stopping in place and turning to face Javier who doesn’t notice in time and almost runs into him.

“What the fuck, Javier?” Steve says.

“What?”

“What was that shit this morning? Huh?” Steve is taller and while Javier doesn’t usually feel it, Steve’s stance makes him practically shrink. “The new secretary, who is she?”

 _So this is what he was waiting for._ Javier glances around to make sure they’re alone enough for the conversation to be appropriately private. He’s sure she wouldn’t want any rumors going on about them. “Her name’s Y/N. And yeah, she’s the new ambassador’s secretary.”

“And what were you doing with her?” Steve asks. “That conversation, going down to the basement togeth—are you fucking her?”

“No!” Javier says. They’re doing the exact opposite of that. “I wouldn’t, not a coworker.”

“You would. Don’t lie,” Steve says. It’s the sort of statement that would be a passing comment in weeks past, and while it still rings true, it stings now. Javier’s not sure exactly why. Maybe it’s the thought that Steve could look at the two of them and reduce what’s been happening to ‘just fucking.’ Then again. Javier hasn’t given Steve any reason not to believe that to be true.

“I’m not. We’re just—”

“Just what?” Steve scoffs. “Dating?”

That’s what it is though, and Javier is silent. He doesn’t talk about his personal life much, especially his relationships, with Steve. Most of that is due to the nature of his past relationships, but with her it’s different. But it’s still uncharted waters with Steve, and he’s not sure what to say. How to respond. And his silence is enough.

“Oh shit, you are.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah.” Javier nods. “We are.”

“That’s, uh, new,” Steve says. 

“It is,” Javier says.

“Why her?”

“What?”

“You’re not a relationships guy. Hell, you left your fiancée at the altar. Why her? Why now?”

“I don’t know,” Javier says. It’s another time where he knows he should be honest and tell someone the truth. Except he’s not sure if he can handle the shame. “I wasn’t expecting it to go as well as it has though. Our first night… it was different. Good different. And she seemed to care. When I’m with her, it’s—I don’t know. It’s something special.”

“ _Fuck_ , Javi, you’re in deep, aren’t you?”

Javier can’t voice the affirmation. That much scares him. Instead, he nods, solemn and terrified. 


	8. Chapter 7

Last time Javier showed up at your place, he was picking you up and you were waiting at the front steps. It’s not like you’re  _ worried  _ about today or anything. It’s just that it’s a bit different.

Mostly because you lost track of time and he buzzed up to your apartment. And you let him in. And now he’s waiting for you to take the lead. Because, after all, this is the date you planned.

You had felt a bit bad about him being such a gentleman, planning and paying for two amazing nights, and leaving notes on your desk, sitting with you during lunch, and all the other times he’d taken the lead, while you’ve pretty much sat back and let him woo you. Something you  _ were _ content with doing, it being a nice change of pace from previous relationships. But you heard that one of your favorite Spanish films was showing at the little theater on the other side of town. And you knew Javier would like it. Or at least you hoped he would.

And now he’s standing in the living room of your apartment while you’re sitting on the couch, putting on shoes. You look up and he’s a bit awkward, not sure of what to do. You stand up, picking up your purse, and walk over to him.

He gives you the second kiss of the day, the first being when you let him in. This one is slower and more innocent. He’s smiling through it all and it manages to calm all your nerves at once.

“Hey.” Javier breaks away.

“You ready?” you ask.

“Of course I am,” he says.

You reach over to grab your keys off the dish they’re stored in and gesture for him to exit as you pull the door open. After locking it behind you you jog down the stairs and out to your car. It’s unusual, having Javier as the passenger. There hasn’t been much of a precedent set for him being the one to drive, having only driven you to and from the art museum before, but somehow it feels like your brain has set that it’s supposed to be that way. And that him sitting in the passenger seat is wrong. 

You remind yourself that this is your night. The one you’ve planned. And that’s the sort of thought you have to train yourself out of. You turn over to Javier who looks back at you with the trust and excitement and adoration you’ve felt from him since your first date. You’re so damn lucky. That’s for sure. You pull out of your spot and onto the road, setting off for the opposite side of town.

“So where are we going today?” Javier asks. You were about to turn on the radio but you are glad he spoke. The trip is a good twenty minutes without traffic, and now, around dinnertime, it’s going to be a bit longer. Doing the whole drive awkwardly sitting next to him with the music playing doesn’t sound appealing.

“Well, first we’ve got dinner, over at one of my favorite restaurants,” you say. “It’s a small place so fair warning, it doesn’t look like much. But trust me, the food is amazing.”

“Where is it?”

You give him the name of the neighborhood. He gapes a bit in realization of how far you’re taking him. A half-hour drive doesn’t feel like much, but to people who live and work in the heart of the city, or get to ride in police cars going over any speed limits, in the case of Javier, it’s a bit of a trek.

The theater is on that side of town, which gave you an excuse to go to the restaurant. Years ago, when you first moved to Bogotá, you had a couple other American friends, one of whom was a waitress at the place. The owner, Constanza Gil, basically adopted her, giving her a place to stay when she was kicked out of her apartment because she couldn’t pay the increased rent, and through that relationship, you got to know Constanza very well.

Your original group of friends has all moved away, either back to the States or onto other adventures, but you kept going to the place, year after year. Constanza passed away last year, succumbing to her seventy impressive years. You were lucky to be included in the funeral, a joyful celebration of life with what felt like half of the neighborhood she lived in. She was like a grandmother to everyone.

You had been back to the restaurant once since, but making it all the way out there when Constanza was gone didn’t always feel worth the effort. With Javi, it does.

He surprises you after about five minutes of small talk by asking you about the neighborhoods you’re driving through. Somehow he knows that you’re familiar with the streets and history of the city. The way it moves and breathes and evolves. That’s the difference you’ve seen between you and most of the Americans at the embassy. They don’t see the city as more than an extension of their office. A place where they live so they can work and socialize amongst other Americans. You’ve made quicker friends with the Colombians who work there. It’s a mutual understanding. And Javier seems to have picked up on it.

You tell him about the buildings you pass on your drive. The beautiful ones that used to house theaters and art that are now supermarkets. The ones covered in graffiti from an artist who lives down the street from your apartment. The brand new apartment buildings, cropping up with all the recent development. You tell him about the city and he listens intently.

“But you probably already know that,” you tell him once. “I mean, you’re a field agent, you work out here. You know the streets, I’ve seen you pouring over maps.”

“I may know the streets, but I don’t understand them,” he says. “Not like you.”

.

You find a spot in a parking lot, a few blocks away from where you need to go, but fairly empty already. He follows you down the street to the front door, where a waiter greets you like an old friend.

You can tell he’s instantly charmed.

“I’ve never been to someplace that feels so friendly,” he says after you’ve gotten a table. “It feels like those mom-and-pop diners back home.”

“Yeah, that’s what I love about it,” you say.

You place your orders.

“So I think it’s time to come clean about what we’re doing here,” you say. “There’s a small movie theater just down the block, and they’re showing one of my favorites. It’s in Spanish, which I don’t think should be a problem?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. I think—” you pause, not sure if what you’re about to say is true, more that you’re hoping it is— “I think you’ll like it.”

“If it’s anything like the art you showed me, I’m sure I will.” Leave it to Javier to soothe your nerves, every moment of this whole date. You’re comfortable around him, you realize. You have been this whole week. You don’t have to be the American secretary like you do at work, and you don’t have to try to be the perfect local like when you’re out with your Colombian friends. You can be the person in the middle, and a little bit of someone else that you hide, around him.

.

A long dinner and a movie later, you find yourselves bursting into the cool Bogotá night air, just past ten, and you’re laughing at Javier’s still-shocked expression at the ending of the movie.

You feel a bit high off of the candy consumed and Javier’s hands which are wrapped around your shoulders, steady and affirming. It gives you the boldness required to stop and pull him into a kiss, possibly too passionate for out in public. You don’t mind though because there’s hardly anyone else out. He melts into the kiss, his tongue probing and searching, lips harsh against yours. But there’s no teeth clashing, only a soft intensity. You sink your arms lower down his back and when his hands land on your waist as he attempts to further deepen the kiss, you can’t help but let out a moan.

It’s loud. Loud enough to bounce off the cement wall to your side and it seems to echo across the street, knocking you back into your senses and realizing that you’re thinking about having sex with Javier Peña, and for a brief moment, didn’t even care if you did it right on the sidewalk.

He seems to sense your hesitation and pulls off, one hand lingering at the small of your back, and he guides you to continue walking.

“Let's at least make it to the car,” he says, a smile on his lips and the ghost of laughter in his voice.

“Good idea,” you say. It’s quiet again. You can tell you’re both thinking of the same thing. And you know you’re sure about it. More sure than you’ve been with past boyfriends. Hell, you don’t even know if you can call Javier a boyfriend, but you’ve gone on three dates now, so you’re also sure as hell that it’s not about the sex. It’s just the next step that you both want.

You trust him. That’s what it comes down to. You trust him to be yourself around him. You trust him to respect you. You trust him to listen.

The car is in front of you much sooner than you expected, and you find yourself unlocking the car, but instead of climbing into the driver’s seat, you’re opening the doors to the backseat and tugging Javier in with you.

“Y/N,” he says, hovering over you. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I am. Are you?”

He pauses, then nods. “Of course.”

“Javi,” you say. You stare up into his eyes. “What is this?”

You can feel every breath. The ones you take, aware of the way your chest rises and falls. Of the soft brush of air over your top lip. And the ones Javier takes, his warm breath all around you.

You feel bad for asking him the question because it’s one you don’t know how you’d answer if directed towards you. And it’s not like he’s the sole authority defining things. He’s got the fear in his eyes you’d have if you were in his place. The insecurity about whether your answer is the right one. That what you want is what he wants.

“I want it to mean something,” you say, a terrifying attempt to ease his worries. And you can see him relax.

“Me too,” he says. “But not just  _ this _ . Us. I want us to be more.”

“You do?” You swallow. Somehow, you’ve landed the perfect universe, the one where the man you like feels the same, will talk things through, and is upfront about his feelings. You find yourself falling for him even more in this moment, if that is even possible.

“Yes, I do,” he says. “I like this. Us. Dating. It... works. Well.”

“It does, and I want that too,” you say. It’s relieving to have it all out there. You feel more secure in what you’ve already begun to initiate, ready for it to be more.

“Good.”

He dives in, a continuation of the kiss from out on the street, except this time you’re protected by the privacy of the car. The parking lot is empty aside from you, but the thought that any passerby could walk up and peer in through the windows and see you two, mouths locked together and hands sliding lower, is all the more arousing.

You find hold of the bottom of Javier’s shirt, working your way up the buttons. It’s a scrambling effort, one that he’s not making any easier by the way he’s kissing you.

When you do get the shirt undone, your hands falling on warm skin, Javier lets go to remove it, and reaches down to the hem of your own shirt, pausing for a moment. You reach down to guide his hand, trying to get the damn thing off as soon as possible. You want to feel your chest against his.

And you are so glad when you do. You reach around, feeling up and down his back. That, combined with your lips bruising against his, causes him to let out a groan akin to the one he did in the basement yesterday. That groan that almost had you jumping him right there amongst the shelves. You lift your hips, grinding up against him, as much for your own fiction as to work him up.

Something clicks on in both your heads and Javier breaks away from kissing you to move his mouth down your jaw, careful not to leave any marks until he works his way to your collarbone and then onto your breasts, somewhere that could be clothed if needed. He unclasps your bra, and you bring one arm up to hold the back of his head, your chest rising into him as he leaves an already red mark on your breast before taking a nipple into your mouth. You gasp and it turns into a moan.

One of his hands slides down to your ass, and, pulling you closer, he slots one leg firmly between yours. You grind up again, meeting him as he does the same, and then his mouth is gone from your chest, the air cool on the spot he left. And you’re both scrambling to remove anything left on, tumbling around in the backseat.

Javier ends up on the floor and you bang your head against the car door, causing you both to stop for a moment and laugh.

You help him back up, and you can tell he stops himself before diving back in.

“You’re really sure about this?” he asks.

“Yes, Javier, I’ve told you. I am,” you say. You want this. And you want to be firm about that.

“Okay,” he says, before ducking down and running a finger in between your folds.

It’s smooth, mostly due to how wet you are, so he easily slides a finger inside you. You moan, and he begins to move, his thumb brushing over your clit every so often. His body is holding your legs open and his free hand is wrapped around you torso

It’s splendid, and you want him to go further, but the space is so small. You feel like you’re teetering on the edge of the seat, and the stress of falling again is enough to keep you from fully enjoying it.

“Javi?” you breath out.

“Yes?” His hand stops moving immediately, and you almost whine at the loss of motion.

“Can we take this back to my apartment?” You want this, you really do. But you want to do it on a bed, or at least on a surface with some space. If you only make it to your couch, that’s okay too.

“Of course,” he says. He pulls his fingers out of you and your hips trail up with them, betraying your ability to stop in the middle of things. He grabs your shirt from the floor and puts it on you before grabbing his own. You almost can’t be bothered to put on anything else wanting to leave your pants and underwear on the floor with your bra. It’s not like anyone’s going to be able to  _ see  _ you while you drive. But you know you’re going to have to get out of the car at some point. So you pick them up and start to pull them on.

There’s not enough room for this, and you keep bumping into Javier’s legs and arms, and he keeps stopping you to kiss you for a moment. Nothing manages to cool the arousal pooling in your core, and you want to crawl onto his lap, return to your apartment be damned.

And while you remember another good reason to go back home: you have condoms there, you still don’t want to have to wait.

You’re both dressed and you lean over to open the car door, hoping to extract yourself and go up to the driver’s seat before you’re tempted to rip off your clothes again and finish what you started. But Javier wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you towards him again, and you let out a little gasp.

He puts a hand on your cheek, runs his thumb across your lips, and whispers such that the air from his words brushes across your face. “You’re beautiful. I’m so lucky.”

You lean forward, closing the gap between you. Your lips touch his and it’s a strong contrast to minutes before, this kiss being full of tenderness and adoration. And you are glad you’re heading home for this. Because if this kiss is any indication, when you’ve got the space and the infinity of a night in your apartment, you can take it slow together. It doesn’t have to be the grasping thing that you wanted in the moment. It can be soft and amorous. You can take the time to appreciate him.

And the thought of what is possible is a different kind of arousing. Its the kind that stops you from wanting to roll your hips into him right now, but makes you want him even more. It’s the kind of arousing that comes with intimacy rather than lust. Neither being a bad thing. But you want this first time with Javier to be special.

So you move over to the door again, this time stepping out into the cool air, much drier than your car, and take a deep breath. You smile at the night sky. The universe really did you good this time.


End file.
